364 Years of Cullen
by ilovedraco45
Summary: Carlisle Cullen reflects on his life on his 364th birthday. I think his life is not mentioned nearly enough in canon and has the potential to be fascinating. I hope to do it justice!
1. Prologue

Chapter One: Introduction

A/N: My latest story! Lately I've fallen victim to reading fluffier _Twilight _fanfics, like "LOL THE CULLENS GO TO THE MALL GUYZ LOLLLL!", and I enjoy them a little too much more than I should. One character whom I've really taken a shine to is Carlisle – a character mentioned far too rarely in canon (in my opinion). His life seems like it must have been so fascinating, and I'd been throwing the idea of doing a biofic about him for awhile. Then tonight, September 3, 2009, I started reading _AB Type_, by Alcyone23, which is a biofic of sorts about Aro's life, and I decided to make it happen because it is one of the best _Twilight _fics I've read that wasn't just for lulz. I'm going to really try to make an effort to update frequently, but to be honest, senior year and all that comes with it might get in the way. If you send me mean reviews telling me to update, I WILL! I promise – just ask aridnie =), and I welcome feedback of all kinds! (Yes, even flames, though it seems like you might as well offer constructive criticism. Why waste everyone's time with flames if you don't contribute?)

Disclaimer: I don't even own 2/3 of my iTunes library. Come on, guys.

"_Happy birthday, dear Car-liiiiiiiiiisle, happy birthday to youuuu!" _my family trilled and I smiled, blowing out the candles on my cake. The cake was purely symbolic, of course, but I knew a couple of people who might enjoy it.

"Okay Nessie, Jake," I said. "Dig in." For two people who had been matched before they themselves knew it, they certainly had different tastes. Jacob fell to his slice of cake (which was roughly the size of a three-ring binder) with gusto, restraining himself just enough to seem polite, whereas Nessie cut herself a thin slice that she ate daintily and mostly, I knew, out of politeness for me. My little granddaughter never failed to fascinate me. At one year of age, she had the physical appearance of a ten-year-old and the mental facilities that would encompass the average teenager's. Everything she processed, she processed more quickly than the average human. For instance, a healthy human goes through a so-called "sugar high" in about three hours. Renesmee, however, was finished with her high and passed out in Jacob's arms a mere fifteen minutes after she'd finished her slice of cake.

"I'll take her to bed," the werewolf said, making to stand.

"No, finish your cake," my daughter-in-law, Bella, interjected softly as she picked Nessie up from Jake's arms and carried her off to the cottage where she and Renesmee lived with Edward, the oldest member of my family. We all watched her exit, crooning softly in her sleeping child's ear, and I found myself marveling at the new phenomena that was Bella Cullen exiting a room without tripping. Jake went home and the rest of the family slowly dispersed after that, Alice and Jasper to their bedroom and Rosalie to take a shower, leaving me with Edward, Emmett, and Esme. My wife began to pack away the cake and put the sullied plates in the dishwasher as Edward stood up and stretched. "I think I'll go see how the girls are doing," he said, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

Emmett snorted. "Just be sure not to wake the baby, Eddie!" he snickered, which made Edward growl and punch him in the arm.

After Edward had retreated to the cottage, Emmett left to play video games, leaving me and Esme in the kitchen. "Let me help with that," I said, though it was both unnecessary and futile to offer.

"No, no," she said, shutting the dishwasher and turning it on. "Not on your birthday. Do you want to do anything in particular this evening?"

"I think I'll take a walk," I said and she smiled, remembering my decennial tradition. "Don't wait up."

She laughed at our long-time joke. "I'll be waiting and willing to do whatever you wanted," she whispered. I smiled. How I loved my wife.

I slipped my feet into beat-up tennis shoes and shrugged on a fleece pullover, purely for show. Being a vampire, I could walk around naked and be impervious to the light, cold winds that blew down from Canada on perfect summer nights like these. The sun set in the distance over the tops of the pine trees, and the world grew steadily darker as I headed deep into the forest, where I began to pick up speed.

Three miles and two deer later, I stood in a clearing on the edge of a completely still pond. A breeze whistled through the trees as crickets began to chirp, and I sat on the bank and let my mind wander backwards…

A/N: A bit of a prologue chapter to what I hope will be an excellent biofic (presumptuous, yes.) If anyone's wondering, I'm from Seattle and have a vacation home on Lopez Island (look it up), so I've taken many a pensive walk along water and through forests. It's the perfect venue to reflect on your life, a venue which Carlisle will take good advantage of. Please review and let me know what parts of Carlisle's life you would like me to focus on! Any other form of feedback is always appreciated as well.


	2. Humanity

Chapter Two: Humanity

Disclaimer: Not Stephenie Meyer, thank God. Also, I don't own _Macbeth_…even though that might not be under copyright so maybe that's not a problem…whatever. I still don't own it.

I don't remember my birthday, but I am told that the day I was born, a fog lay low over the rooftops of London. My mother, weak from carrying and delivering me, died in her bed as I wailed. The midwife cleaned me up and gave me to my father, with whom I remained for 23 years.

My father loved proverbs. An Anglican minister, his sermons were riddled with them, and I heard them every day. "Waste not, want not, Carlisle," he would remind me when I left food on my plate. And when I sat on the windowsill with a book, "Idle minds are the Devil's playthings, Carlisle." He made special exceptions for the Bible, of course, claiming that no man was complete until he had read the Lord's Holy Word. I learned to read when I was seven years old and, ten years later, I must have read every book almost twenty times. My childhood and youth passed in a haze of shouts, soot, church, and play. While it wasn't the cushiest existence, I never wanted for any necessities. From the age of thirteen, the only thing in life I really wanted was Bridget Dunne, the girl who lived in the shadows of our alley to avoid the other children.

Being both Irish and red-haired, Bridget and her family attracted unwanted attention from our neighbors. "Irish bitch, Irish bitch!" other children would squeal whenever she tried to come out and join us in playing ball or tag. Eventually, she realized that her place in life was on its outskirts, and all we saw of her was a flash of red hair or the glint of a blue eye as she stood in her doorway. She intrigued me – we'd both had to grow up too fast. I wondered what happened inside her mind. Did she enjoy the same things as me? Could she read? Were her dreams lofty, or was she going to do what was expected of her – marry as best she could and have as many babies as the Lord would let her? Three weeks after my sixteenth birthday, I decided to go out and get the answers to my questions.

It was a sunny day when I sat down next to Bridget on her stoop and pulled out my well-worn copy of _Macbeth. _It had cost my father 14 shillings, and was my most prized possession. I feigned interest in the lines I could recite by heart. "_Where hast thou been, sister?_" the first witch asked the second witch as I heard Bridget take a breath. "_Killing swine_," responded the second witch. Ten pages later, she spoke. "Must thou sit here?"

"I suppose not," I said. "Why mustn't I?"

"My father is an irate man," she mumbled. "If he sights thee…take caution." It occurred to me that I had never heard Bridget speak before. Her voice was clear yet musky, and it creaked a bit from lack of use.

"Tis not me thou must worry about, Miss Bridget," I replied. Her eyes widened at the use of her name. I heard my father calling me and bid her good day.

***

It was two weeks before I saw Bridget again. My father, engrossed in a sermon, sent me to the market for a loaf of bread when I heard someone fall into step beside me. "Good day, Carlisle," she murmured, brushing her hair back from her eyes. "Art thou heading to market as well?"

"Aye," I replied. "Mind thy step," I warned, and she moved away from a large pile of horse droppings in the gutter. Upon reaching the market, I stopped at the bread vendor's stall. "A loaf of rye, please."

"Ten shillings, lad," grunted the vendor.

"Ten shillings! Thou dares to cheat me out of hard-earned money?" I protested. "Four shillings."

"Eight shillings."

"Five shillings."

"Six shillings."

"Sold," the vendor agreed, handing over the bread. I put it in the cloth sack my father had given me, avoiding beggars and pickpockets who would try to steal it.

Bridget was picking out potatoes when I passed her on my way home. "Carlisle!" she called, to be heard over the din. I realized I'd never heard her speak in anything but whispers. "Wouldst thou walk me home?"

My mouth went dry. "Aye," I agreed hoarsely.

On the walk home, I found myself observing Bridget, completely enticed. A rancid breeze blew past, fluttering her hair into her face and wafting her scent towards me. I inhaled. She smelled like flour and salt. We reached her family's stoop and she smiled at me shyly. "Thank ye, Carlisle."

"'Twas no trouble," I replied, and nearly jumped a mile when her hand slipped into mine and squeezed. I ripped it from hers in shock, and she blushed.

"My apologies," she murmured, and flew into her house before I could begin to think of a response.

At supper, I cleared my throat. "Father," I began hesitantly, knowing that children were to be seen and not heard, "what dost thou think of the Dunnes?"

"They are a bunch of lousy, Catholic drunks," he spat, suddenly incensed. Looking back, my father often reminded me of the pundits that Emmett liked to make fun of on TV. "Catholic swine, the lot of them."

"Aye, Father," I murmured, clearing the plates from the table.

***

Several years after the trip to the market, I was sitting in the front pew of my father's church, listening to him shout to the congregation. "Thou must remember!" he roared. "These streets are not pure! Their cups runneth over with witches, vampires, beggars, swine! These impurities must be eliminated if London is to be saved! The Lord hath given me this mission for thee! Thou must take to the streets! Eliminate all that is impure and an affront to the Lord! Go now, and do the Lord's bidding!" The congregation was silent as he sat down behind the altar in his throne.

The acolyte stood, clearing his throat. "Please stand to receive the benediction."

After supper that night, I went to retire to my room but was stopped. "Carlisle," he said. "I require thy assistance."

"Yes, Father?" I asked, surprised.

"I am not the man I once was, 'twould appear," he sighed. "And therefore, I must call upon my only son to help me do the Lord's work."

"What dost thou mean, Father? I would be proud to assist thee," I replied dutifully, growing suspicious.

"My sermon this morning…I meant what I said, Carlisle. London is in grave danger of becoming a heathen's paradise. We must take to the streets to eliminate the scum that squishes underneath our feet." _Perhaps thou would benefit from a scrubbing brush,_ I thought, but didn't say anything. "I need you, Carlisle, to lead our congregation in battle against the witches and vampires that put our fair city in peril. If thou manage to purify the city, thou shalt be exalted in the name of the Lord, guaranteeing thee a spot in the kingdom of heaven! I have not been able to offer you much in life, my son, but I must be sure that you gain a place in our Lord's kingdom."

"I am honored, Father," I said, keeping my eyes respectfully downcast. "On the morrow I would be much obliged to hear of your plans for me if I am to purify the city. Might I retire now?"

"Aye," he responded, lighting his pipe. "Good night, Carlisle."

In my tiny room, I remember grimly accepting my fate. Although I considered myself to be a good Christian man, I was not nearly as pious as my father. I believed that all men and women could be saved and therefore deserved a place next to our Lord. _'Tis not your decision to make, Carlisle_, I thought. _Father accepted your decision not to attend seminary school. Thou owe him this much._ I remembered sighing, changing into my nightshirt and falling into a deep slumber, comforted by the tobacco smoke wafting under the door.

A/N: GAHH! That took way too long, I'm so sorry! Finals and all that crap got in the way but now the really hard part of senior year is over, and I might have more time to update more frequently. I hope you enjoy this chapter! In other news, I'm thinking of starting a more lulzy Twilight fic, one where the Cullens (post-BD) travel the world. If you've read my other stories, you'll know I have a particular fondness for travel and travel fics, so I think I'll have fun with it. Thanks for reading!


	3. The Mission

Chapter Three – The Mission

A/N: July. Fucking JULY. I think I stopped writing this in what, November? Unbelievable, I had all these plans, too. Anyways, the plot bunny came to visit me while I was washing the dishes a few days ago, so here we go…I think it'll get easier when I don't have to write in old-timey English anymore, though I'm sure the Volturi mostly speak Latin…gah.

Disclaimer: Nooope.

"My brethren!" I shouted, raising a torch to the sky. "The time has come! We must take to the streets, and drive out the ungodly swine that infests them! We must purify London in the name of our Lord!" A shout of agreement rose from the crowd in front of me (I was standing on an old wooden crate), which consisted mainly of the men from my father's church and the men from several other churches in the city. "Follow me, in the name of Christ!" I finished, bellowing, and took off towards the sewers, a shouting and flaming crowd following me.

I have always been blessed with the powers of persuasion and oration. I can incite a crowd with the right combination of words, and tonight was no exception. I led the way through the sewers (_Fie, the stench!_) and the men were so full of adrenaline that they either didn't notice or didn't care that I wasn't actually doing anything that would require me to sully my hands – I mostly pointed, shouted something self-righteous, and ran on to the next "doomed soul". I didn't make eye contact with any of the people I was condemning, especially since I didn't believe that they were witches or vampires. The guilt in my heart was overwhelming. _The Lord may have put devilish creatures on this Earth,_ I thought, _but 'tis not thine duty to damn them, _a voice in my head said, and I ran faster. _Honor thy father and mother_, I thought over and over again. It was put before "_Thou shalt not kill_" in the Ten Commandments, so surely it must take precedence! _Honor thy mother and father. Honor thy mother and father. Honor thy mother and father._ Slowly but surely, the chiding voice was muted and I kept it silent until we were finished with the night's work and I was in my bed. _Take heed, Carlisle,_ it warned. _Do not presume to know the desires of the Lord._ _Honor thy mother and father,_ I thought as hard as I could, and I slipped into a doze.

Several weeks passed. I led raids every night, crawled into bed as the sun rose, and slept for a few hours before going to help my father at the church or sitting out on the stoop. At this point in my life, I'm fairly certain I was 23, which would make Bridget 22 or so. Over the years, I'd thought about her a lot. Her parents hadn't managed to find her a suitor yet, so she was living at home. I knew that if a husband wasn't found for her soon, she would be forced to become a scullery maid or hold some other undesirable career, and idly wondered whether I could spin marrying her to my father as an act of charity. I imagined his reaction and laughed derisively. _Honor thy mother and father, Carlisle._ Just then, Bridget emerged from her house. It had been six or seven years since that day in the market, and we hadn't spoken since, just passed in the street and exchanged the odd nod. I watched her wearily empty the chamber pots into the gutter and arch her back – clearly, she either didn't think anyone was watching or didn't care. The sun caught her hair, making it glint gold, and I watched her smile as the warmth passed over her face. She saw me and her smile grew more pronounced. I couldn't help but notice she had developed, with a full bosom and rounded hips. _Thou must not think sinful thoughts, Carlisle_.

Luckily, my sinful thoughts were interrupted by an old woman who seemed to come out of nowhere. "Thou art the Cullen boy?" she asked, her voice creaking.

"Aye…" I confirmed warily. Who was this woman?

"I have heard tales a coven of vampires living in the sewers underneath Westminster," she whispered conspiringly. Dread knotted in the pit of my stomach. "Thou art the lad who does the Lord's work, who drives the impurities out of London. I implore thee to cleanse Westminster this evening."

"Aye, Madame," I agreed resignedly. "I shall drive the coven out of Westminster, at thy request."

"God bless thee, Cullen," she rasped, and hurried on her way. I sighed. I really didn't want to go on another raid, but I considered it a moral duty to follow through on every promise I made. Besides, I was running out of places to go, which was starting to annoy my father. _One more raid, Carlisle_, I told myself. An idea occurred to me. _Then… run away. _Another idea occurred to me, one that I liked even more than my first one, and I smiled._ Take Bridget with thee._

I started by collecting my life's savings. Money was tight between my father and me, but over the years I had managed to save 63 shillings, which I thought would be enough money for me and Bridget to get out of London. _Don't get too ahead of thyself, Carlisle,_ I thought. _Maybe Bridget won't leave. Maybe she doesn't even like you._ I felt pretty stupid for making so many plans without even seeing if she wanted to go with me.

Now, as I sat in the window, waiting for her to emerge from her house, I felt even more stupid. I kept checking over my shoulder, expecting to find my father behind me, asking what I was doing. My gut tightened when I saw her leave her house with a basket and I hurried down the stairs, slowing to a more nonchalant pace as I stepped into the street. She had a head start, but my legs were longer and I caught up with her fairly quickly, my heart pounding and blood rushing in my cheeks. "Good day," I mumbled, not sure if I wanted her to hear me or not.

"Good day, Carlisle," she replied. Over the years, she had grown more confident. Her voice no longer creaked, but was clear, though still soft. "To market?"

"Aye," I replied. What was wrong with me? Why was I so shy?

We continued, and I watched more or less mutely as she bought a loaf of bread and a sack of potatoes. When we were outside her house, she noticed my empty hands. "Thou bought nary a thing!"

"Nay," I said. My voice sounded raspy, like I was thirteen. She gave me a weird look – with good reason.

"Well…" she said. "Good day, Carlisle." She went to go inside.

"Wait," I said, and she turned, raising an eyebrow. "Bridget, I…I must lead another cleanse tonight, for my father's sake. But after…I plan to run away. I want thou to come with me."

Her eyes widened and the blood drained from her face. "Excuse me?" she asked incredulously.

"Run away with me," I repeated, feeling colossally stupid. "We might marry, if…if thou wishes." Colossally stupid was an understatement. She clearly didn't want to come along. "My apologies," I mumbled. "Good day."

I had almost made it to my doorstep when I heard her call, "Carlisle!" I turned and watched her run across the street, dodging a vendor with his cart, and before I could understand what was happening she had thrown her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to mine. "Aye," she whispered as she pulled away, her face cracked into a smile. "I shall wait for thee."

It was my turn to grin like an idiot. "Meet me behind thy house at dawn. We shall go from there." I looked into her eyes, and they seemed to smolder and gaze into my soul. I don't remember how much time passed, but eventually I heard my father shouting.

"Carlisle! Where art thou, disobedient boy!" Bridget's eyes widened and left mine, and she turned tail and ran, shutting the door to her house behind her. I went inside to meet my father and prepare for the raid, walking on air and in high spirits.

I don't think my memories of the night I was bitten will ever dull. I couldn't bring myself to concentrate on my task; my mind was so full of plans for myself and for Bridget. When I looked at the crackling flame on my torch, I saw her hair in the sunlight, and when I closed my eyes, I felt her lips on mine.

The old woman had been right about one thing, though: these were real vampires. Their irises were crimson, and they hissed inhumanly as I fought them alongside the men of my father's congregation. The pitchforks that the other men had brought either made horrendous, screeching noises as they scraped futilely against the vampires' skin, or were thrown and simply ricocheted away, as though the vampires were made from marble. I heard the boom of a musket – _who in Father's congregation is wealthy enough to own a musket?_ – and realized, with a sinking feeling of foreboding, that I was in way over my head. Damned souls or no, I had to get out of here if I was going to live long enough to run away with Bridget at dawn.

It was easy to slink away in the noise and flickering flames. I was almost to the exit when I felt an icy hand on my shoulder. It happened so quickly, I almost didn't see it – a flash of sharp teeth, an unearthly hiss, and a searing pain on the left side of my neck. I felt a horrid sucking sensation as blood left my body, and the vampire paused to savor the taste of my blood – _o, Jesus, he is drinking my blood!_. In that pause, someone managed to come up behind him and set his head on fire. Distracted, he turned and I fell back against the wall, gasping in pain and horror. The vampire ran, trying to save himself, and I found myself face to face with William, a fellow member of my father's congregation several years my junior. His eyes flickered from my face to my wound and back. A split second passed as I waited, completely at his mercy. "Run," he whispered. My jaw was clenched so that I would not scream and be heard, but I think he saw my gratitude in my eyes.

Running proved to be impossible. I ended up doing a gimpy sort of crawl/walk out of the sewers and through the streets. _Stay quiet, Carlisle_, my sensible side told me, while the rest of me was pleading with God to kill me, if only to end the pain. I had completely lost all of my perspective. I didn't care if I burned in hell forever, if only to have peace for a single moment. I clawed my way through a crowd in the street, ignoring shouts of protest. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a trapdoor and bolted for it, disappearing into a potato cellar. I had heard of doctors who would put a stick between a patient's teeth to bite on for pain, and I jammed a potato into my mouth, clenching as hard as I could. The burning in my veins became unbearable, and, horror-stricken, I realized what was happening. _You're becoming one of them. Fie!_

Then, I blacked out.

A/N: Next chapter coming soon! My birthday's tomorrow, leave me a review as a present! :D


End file.
